


Everyone Knows Best Friends Are Greatest in Sets of Three

by KitanaRiddle



Series: De-aging Kid!lock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Cuddles, Gen, Other, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitanaRiddle/pseuds/KitanaRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft leaves de-aged Sherlock and de-aged John at the house of a very confused Greg Lestrade.  The three of them form a friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Knows Best Friends Are Greatest in Sets of Three

The last thing Detective Inspector Lestrade expected when he answered the door at three in the morning was Mycroft Holmes accompanied by two children, no older than eight.

“Uh are these yours?” Greg rubbed his hand over his face trying to force his exhaustion away.

Mycroft scoffed as he ushered the children inside, “Goodness no Detective Inspector. They are the result of Sherlock stealing unauthorized drugs from Baskerville.”

Upon closer inspection Greg realized the taller boy had a mop of wavy black curls and huge blue eyes, while the smaller boy had short blond hair and was clutching onto Mycroft’s hand with a death grip. If there was any question as to who the boys were, it was quashed by the dark haired boy dramatically flopping himself onto the couch.

“Mr. Holmes I’m not sure what you expect _me_ to do with them!” Greg stammered as he saw the two suitcases Anthea had just wheeled in.

With a sniff Mycroft looked up from where he was mooning over the tiny boy attached to his hand, “I expect you to use the week vacation the Yard has granted under my duress to care for them while I figure out a cure.  I assure you Detective Inspector I am less pleased about this than you. Anthea has picked up basic supplies, clothing and such.”

Greg stammered as Mycroft cooed to the blond boy and transferred his tiny hand to hold onto Greg’s. Mycroft stood up from where he was crouched, gave Greg a curt nod and vanished as promptly as he’d arrived. 

“This is definitely not my division,” he groaned.

He felt a tug on his arm, “Excuse me mister. Do you know where Harry is?”

“Harry? Who’s Har- oh right, your sister,” Greg remembered John ranting about her one night at the pub, “your family is away for a bit and they asked me to take care of you. Is that okay?”

John pulled in his lower lip from the pout and gave a tiny nod.  Together he and John drug the suitcases to the spare room and started to go through them. It was obvious that one bag was intended for Sherlock; it was filled with tight pants and dress shirts for clothes and science books and chemistry sets for toys. The other was meant for John, being filled with jeans and jumpers as well as a few race cars and tiny army men.

“Nothing in your house is exciting,” the tiny Sherlock yelled from the living room, “BORED!”

Greg stopped himself from rolling his eyes and swearing, “How about some breakfast John? I make good pancakes.”

Sherlock had climbed onto the back of the couch and was perched on it similar to how a cat would.  He ignored John and Greg’s return to the main area in favour of lazily flipping through the channels. To Greg’s surprise the young boy settled on the cartoon Peter Pan.  His interest in the movie was short lived when he heard the noise from the kitchen.

“Can we have chocolate chips in the pancakes?” Sherlock asked breathlessly as he climbed onto the island, “Mummy used to put them in all the time before Dad died and Mycroft got fat.”

John pushed at the boy beside him, “It’s not nice to call people fat. My mum says it hurts their feelers.”

Sherlock scrunched his nose at the other boy, “Humans don’t have _feelers;_ we’re not insects.”

“What’s an insect?” the blond boy asked as he stirred the bowl Greg had handed to him.

“It’s another word for bugs.”

“That’s cool! I like bugs,” John smiled at Sherlock, “What else do you know about them?”

Greg listened to Sherlock prattle on about bugs while he dug through his cupboard looking for chocolate chips. He knew his wife, _ex-wife_ , had kept some for her baking, but he couldn’t remember where.

Sherlock paused his conversation with John to address Greg, “Most women keep sweets in a cupboard they don’t go in often to avoid the temptation of eating them. I’d say your ex-wife kept it in the same place she kept the gravy boat as you obviously didn’t host large family dinners here.”

It figured Sherlock, at age eight, would still be a prat, Greg mused while finding a bag of chocolate chips nestled in the gravy boat.

Soon enough Greg was serving the two boys chocolate chip pancakes while wondering why this didn’t seem as strange as it should.  

“This is my favorite part,” John gestured to the TV between mouthfuls of his food, “I like when he teaches them to fly.”

“It’s not _actually_ possible to fly,” Sherlock ridiculed from beside him.

Both Greg and Sherlock were stunned to see John’s eyes swell up with tears and his lower lip begin to quiver.

“I mean it’s not possible because we don’t have a fairy that we know to give us pixie dust!” Sherlock patted the boys back trying to comfort him.

John rubbed his hands over his wet eyes and leaned into the arm Sherlock had placed around him. Greg snapped a picture on his phone, for blackmail he told himself, before loading the dishwasher.  By the time he’d cleaned the kitchen the boys had moved to the couch to watch the movie. John was sitting up enamoured with the film while Sherlock was curled half in his lap fast asleep.  Still exhausted, Greg sat on the other side of Sherlock and fell asleep, his hand stroking through the boys hair.  

* * *

When Greg woke up, his phone reading 10am, he saw Sherlock and John spooning on the couch beside him. Sherlock’s hand had managed to tangle with one of Greg’s as well. He felt a rush of affection for the boys and snapped another picture. He started on the laundry he had let pile up while working, distracted by his thoughts when he heard a loud smash from the living room. He bolted over there to find Sherlock standing over a broken lamp.

“Sherlock!” Greg scolded, “What happened?”

The boy looked at him, “Mycroft did it!”

Greg was starting to understand why Sherlock had no sense of social skills, all he had to do was give a look with his big blue eyes and Greg wanted to swoon. With a laugh he went to get the broom, “Mycroft isn’t here Sherlock, nice try.”

Sherlock beamed at him before skipping off the spare room. John had woken up with the commotion and was rubbing at his eyes while yawning. If Sherlock was completely adorable at this age, Greg had no words to describe how precious John was with his messy hair and impish grin.

“Oi Sherlock!” the DI called, “I’m not your maid so stop breaking things unless you wanna clean up after yourself.”

John scrambled over the side of the couch and held the dustpan while Greg swept the broken lamp into it, “You’re not mad at him are you? He’s really smart y’know.”

Once more Greg found himself amused at the situation.  He thought about the things his girls liked to do when they were young and decided he should take the kids to the park.

* * *

Greg never claimed to be experienced with children. When his girls were growing up, his wife organized all the outings and Greg’s job was to make sure they had money for it and to show up. He didn’t realize the hassle corralling the two boys out the door and down the block would be.

“Why are we going to a park? That boooring,” Sherlock complained.

Sherlock had a tendency to dart down every alley they passed looking for lord knows what, and finally Greg had to hold the boy’s hand to keep him close. They reached the park and despite all his protests, Sherlock was clambering up the ropes and onto the highest structure of the equipment. John followed when the taller boy called out to him.

“Come on John! I’m a swash buckling pirate and you’ve got to be my first mate!”

John threw his arm up in a salute, “Aye, aye Captain Sherlock.”

The two boys spent a good hour darting about the playground, Sherlock stopping occasionally to tell John some facts about a nearby tree or flying past bird. Finally they breathlessly stumbled towards the bench Greg was sitting on.  He offered them each a juice box and some biscuits he’d grabbed before they left and the three of them crammed onto the small wooden bench.  Both boys rested their heads on Greg’s side while they ate quietly.

Sherlock pulled away first and glanced up at the adult, “You can be my second mate if you want Detective Inspector.”

Greg ruffled the boy’s hair with his hand, “You can call me Greg, Captain Sherlock. And you too First Mate John.”

Both boys grinned at him before dragging him to the swing set.

* * *

By the time they were making their way back to Greg’s, it was nearing dinner. He’d bought them hot dogs at the park but realized he had very little food at home that children would like. Anthea was waiting at the door with three bags of groceries when they arrived. She helped him unload them but refused his offer to stay for dinner. As she was leaving, John pulled on the hem of her skirt.

“You’re really pretty,” he blushed.

Anthea pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, leaving a deep red lip print, before departing. Greg took yet another photo, for proof that Anthea kissed John he told himself.  He boiled pasta for the boys and told them to change into their pajamas while they waited for it to be ready. John came out wearing cameo themed, long sleeve pajamas and Sherlock followed wearing shark themed ones.

“Hey John, what’s the most dangerous shark in the water?” Sherlock quizzed.

“Ummm a great white, like Jaws!”

“That’s what they want you to think, but really it’s the bull shark.”

John glanced up from his macaroni, “who’s ‘they’?”

The raven haired boy looked at Greg suspiciously before whispering, “The government. My brother Mycroft wants to work for the government and he’s the most dangerous man I know!”

Sherlock devoured two bowls of macaroni before John even finished his first. The taller boy was climbing the TV stand by the time Greg and John made their way to join him in the living room.

“Oi Sherlock! Get down from there before you bloody hurt yourself.”

Greg hadn’t realized what he’d said until Sherlock stopped, halfway draped over the top, and stared with huge eyes, “That’s a bad word! Mycroft says only stupid people use bad words because they can’t think of anything smarter to say.”

John threaded his fingers through Greg’s hand and remarked to Sherlock, “I think Greg’s plenty smart!”

Crawling down from his perch, Sherlock answered, “Of course he is, which is why he shouldn’t say bad words, makes him look dumber than he actually is.”

The blond seemed satisfied with that answer and held Sherlock with his other hand, “Good, well that’s good then. Let’s watch a movie.”

“Dull,” Sherlock grumbled.

“What do you want to do that’s not so dull, smarty pants?” John teased.

Sherlock peaked instantly at that and replied, “It’s a full moon tonight and my suitcase has a telescope. We could take the fire escape to the roof and look at the craters!”

Greg was wary about the state of the fire escape so he suggested they set up on his balcony instead. He convinced Sherlock by reminding him the balcony was closer to the snack supply. It was funny how obsessed Sherlock was with food, considering he barely thought of it as an adult.  Sherlock was able to name most of the visible craters and he fluttered about John to ensure he kept the boy’s interest; however, once Sherlock was giving loud yawns, Greg knew it was time to get them to bed. He sent them into the bathroom with face clothes and toothbrushes while he made up the bed, only to return to find the boys involved in a very messy bubble fight.

“Enough boys! It’s time for bed,” Greg used the same voice that he addressed Donavan and Anderson with when they were getting on his last nerve.

John instantly listened while Sherlock pouted and reluctantly rinsed the bubbles off his hands.  Greg tucked Sherlock into the guest bed and John into his own bed before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer. All Greg wanted was to relax, but there were clothes, toys and drawings scattered around the house that needed tending to. With an exhausted sigh, Greg began to clean. He’d managed to sort through most everything before he went to the last mess of colouring at the living room coffee table. Pushing the papers into a neat pile, Greg couldn’t help but notice a rather well done drawing of Sherlock wearing a Captain’s hat while holding hands with John, the boy’s fist curled around a treasure map, and Greg, his free hand holding a sword. In the corner of the paper was the tiny scribbling **SH**. Greg stuck it the fridge with a magnet and finally collapsed onto the couch with his beer. Mycroft called around ten, telling Greg he’d been able to figure out what Sherlock had dosed them with and was working on creating an antidote.  Exchanging goodbyes, Greg hung up the phone and carried a sleeping John into the bed beside Sherlock. He rearranged the blankets to cover both the boys and then crawled between his own sheets and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

When Greg woke up he was aware that he was not alone. Sherlock had curled up at the end of his bed and was making small crying noises in his sleep. The detective inspector ran his hand soothingly on the boy’s back until he quieted. Despite his fatigue, Greg carried the boy back to the guest bed where John was and raised Sherlock’s arm to tuck a small teddy bear under. Once more he captured the moment on his camera phone before he went back to sleep.

Greg was glad his job as Detective Inspector conditioned him for little sleep and busy days. The boys had only been up two hours and Sherlock had already made John cry and broke a cabinet he’d try scaling to the top of. When Sherlock started yelling **BORED** and rifling through the knife drawer in the kitchen, Greg decided he needed to take them out again. He piled the boys, as well as a backpack full of snacks and drinks, into the car before heading out to the zoo.

He had no idea the zoo would be such a hit as he and John trailed after a fervent Sherlock.

“Look Greg and John, those flamingos are pink because they eat carotenoid proteins.”

“What’re those Sherlock? Can I eat some and turn pink?” John always had keen questions to all of Sherlock’s knowledge.

Sherlock looked thoughtful, “I’m not sure, but if you eat a lot of beats, your pee will turn pink! I tried it once but I don’t like how beats taste.”

John raced along side Sherlock and Greg trailed after them as they made their way to the next animal.  They stopped in front of the otter’s tank and John nibbled away at his sandwich, listening intently to each word Sherlock said.

“There’s a video on the computer of two otters holding hands so they don’t drift away,” John mumbled as they were leaving.

Sherlock grabbed Greg and John by the hand and gave them a squeeze, “That’s why I hold your hands, because you’re my best friends and I don’t want you to drift away.”

 John squeezed back and whispered, “I’ll never leave you Sherlock. You’re my best friend.”

They both turned to Greg with their innocent, open expressions and he found himself grinning at them and promising back, “You guys are my best friends too.”

That night when Greg went to grab milk for his tea, he saw a new picture added to his fridge. This one had Sherlock as an otter holding up a hedgehog that resembled John and a silver fox standing beside them and showing its toothy grin.  Mycroft called again that evening and told Greg he should have the antidote either tomorrow or the morning after. Greg felt a small tug of dread when he thought of John and Sherlock growing up again.

* * *

The next morning rain was pounding heavy on the sidewalk. Greg had hoped to take the boys outside but an air of dreariness seemed to hang about the apartment. The boys were curled under a blanket on the couch watching a documentary, but Greg could see Sherlock growing antsy with boredom.

“So who wants to help me bake cookies?” Greg clapped his hands.

John and Sherlock engaged in a wrestling match as they attempted to climb over each other to reach Greg first. When they both made the final last dash and reached the kitchen at the same time Greg smiled and said they’d both have to help. He rolled the store bought dough (Thank you Anthea) onto the counter and managed to find the tin of cookie cutters his ex-wife left. Together the three of them cut out trees, hearts and people until they’d filled five trays with cookies.

Greg had them mix food colouring into the icing while they waited and he told them stories about being a cop, “And then we chased the man down the alley and I had to jump over fences and boxes to keep up with him. But we caught him!”

John and Sherlock were a captivated audience, and as expected, Sherlock was brimming with questions.

“How’d you know he was the right guy?”

“Well,” the detective inspector answered carefully, “We have this bloke that helps us solve crimes, he and his best friend. And the guy is right brilliant. Sometimes he’s not a very nice guy but I know he always means well in the end.”

Their talk was cut short by the beeping of the final batch of cookies finishing in the oven. Greg pulled them out and placed a few of the cooled cookies from the first tray onto the counter for the boys to decorate. They ended up eating them faster than they could decorate and soon all that was left was a plateful.  Greg put the plate on the counter and was about to usher the boys into the bathroom to clean up when there was a rhythmic knock at his door. When he opened it, Mycroft stood with a proud smirk on his face.

He handed Greg two small, green pills, “Have them take one each before bed and by morning they will be back to normal. I appreciate you watching them Detective Inspector. I’ll see to it that you receive a raise in your pay by the end of the month. I do wish I could stay but I've been out of the office three days because of this and we'd hate for anything dreadful to happen from my absence. Ta.”

Greg watched the man walk down the hallway, swinging his umbrella. He shut the door slowly and listened to John giggle as Sherlock produced some form of anarchy. He was not wrong and entered the bathroom to find Sherlock had pocketed the food colouring and now their simple bubble war had become a multi-coloured one.  Rolling his eyes, Greg confiscated the dye and forced Sherlock to take first shower. By the time both boys were finished their showers, Greg had been coerced into agreeing to build a fort with them.  They stacked pillows and blankets all throughout the living room. The resulting fort was just big enough for Greg to sit and read to the boys while they sprawled on the floor around him. Sherlock had his head resting on John’s stomach and the blond boy was messing up the curls on his friend’s head.

When the story was finished, Greg waited for Sherlock to demand for more entertainment, but instead the boy reached for Greg’s hand and whispered, “I’ve never had friends before.”

This time Greg squeezed Sherlock’s hand without coaxing and whispered back, “Well now you have two.”

“Not just friends,” John added thoughtfully, “ _best_ friends.”

Sherlock hummed contently and the three of them sat silent in the blanket fort longer than Greg will ever admit to.

* * *

“What do these do?” John asked looking at the pill Greg had just handed to him and Sherlock.

“They’re medicine. You’re going to be able to see your family again tomorrow and we want to make sure you’re healthy.”

Sherlock sneered, “I don’t want to see Mycroft.”

“You can come visit my family Sherlock,” John comforted his friend.  

With a nod, Sherlock swallowed down his pill and John followed suit. Greg didn’t bother separating them while they fell asleep; instead he sat on the couch and tried to ignore their hushed conversation.  He wondered how lonely childhood must’ve been for Sherlock with his strange behaviors. He thought of how often John must’ve been hurt by his friends with his open and caring heart. Greg also thought of how lonely and empty his house was just three days ago.  He drank an extra beer for allowing his thoughts to go down that road before turning in for the night.

The silence of his apartment when he woke up made Greg wonder if the two men had slipped out just as suddenly as they had slipped into his life. He tiptoed into the spare room to find a full grown John nested on Sherlock’s chest. He was dead to the world but his pillow obviously wasn’t as he and Greg made eye contact. Sherlock reached his hand out in a silent beckoning and the DI found himself walking towards him. Greg found himself spooned up on the other side of John while staring at Sherlock. The heat radiating from the two men as he snuggled closer to John was comforting, as were the tiny circles Sherlock traced into his lower back. The consultant lifted his head slightly, not enough to dislodge John, but enough to press a chaste kiss to Greg’s mouth.

“Thank-you Greg,” he breathed as he pulled away.

John sniffled and rubbed his nose into Sherlock’s neck, “Yeah Greg, everyone knows best friends come greatest in a set of three.”


End file.
